Our December
by Nymyrra
Summary: A series of romantic and friendship short stories for the holidays, about Gaara, Matsuri, Hinata, and Naruto. First installment, Warmth: GaaraxNaruto ; NEW - Second installment, Peppermint Tea: GaaraxMatsuri .
1. Warmth

_Author's Note: This is a series of presents to various friends of mine, posted up to celebrate the holidays. I'll post them up as I complete them. A series of Naruto short romance/friendship one-shots revolving around a prompt and probably the characters Naruto, Gaara, Matsuri, and Hinata._

So, here is a NarutoxGaara story for MiLuCha. And everyone else who enjoys the two of them. Happy holidays.

**Our December**

**Installment I: Warmth**

The room was vague, fathomless. A waxing scrap of moon, white and almost ghostly with the halo of its glow, peeked through the curtains drawn only partway over the window. Its light, faint and weak, was the only one that touched the room; by it, the darkness crept back, yielded shape and substance to the eye.

Gaara's eyes tracked the moonlight, to where it touched his own hand, and the darker skin below it.

"Darker than mine," he whispered aloud, and drew his hand down the bared shoulder, over the rise and fall of flesh revealed by the drift of opened clothing. The curve was soft to his touch, warm and smooth – infinitely more supple than glass, but just as even.

Gaara brought his hand back up, catching the covers between his fingers and drawing them up and over them both. He turned his cheek deeper into the pillow, and shifted gently beneath the blanket, easing slowly into a new position. His other hand, resting atop hair that had been yellow by the daylight and would be yellow once again, gripped the blanket up above Naruto's face, so that it left his mouth and nose bare to the air. His side, exposed along with his boyfriend's airway passages, was cooler than the rest of his body.

A minor discomfort. In the darkness, half-curled on the warm tussle of mattress, blankets, and pillows, with Naruto's head nestled on his chest and his arms about Naruto's shoulders, and with all the warm weight of his boyfriend tucked close against him, Gaara thought he might almost be content. His mouth had that weird, stretched feeling to it again, that strange small curve that only Naruto seemed to really be able to bring to him; had he the desire to touch his mouth and see, he thought he might feel the familiar, faint indentations at the corner of his lips, where the mouth met his cheek. When he breathed in, it was to inhale the smells of their bodies, his and Naruto's, the scent of soap and cloth, of hot stone and dust, of sweet incense long ago burned out on the desk opposite the room.

He drew his fingers through Naruto's hair; felt it, the long thin strands, slightly coarse to his touch. He could not see their color in the darkness, but he knew the shade by heart. Like he knew the landscape of the face below it, the dip and swell of bone and flesh, and the soft brush of lashes on his palm.

Gaara exhaled slowly, relaxing his head back against the blankets. His eyes once more found the slit in the parted curtains, where clouds, paler than the naked sky, were creeping in. The little clock on Naruto's wall, shaped in the likeness of a stylized frog, circled along its chronicle of minutes as he lay there, watching the changing sky and Naruto's sleeping, still face.

Slate grey lightened as he waited, his palms pressed to Naruto, feeling his breath against his own hand and the rise and fall of his chest under his arm, the thrum and beat of his heart below his touch. This was love – this feeling – Naruto's arms wrapped about his own chest, big palms pressed to his own back – this was want. This was warm.

Gaara allowed his eyes to fall close. He let go of the thoughts that filled his weary mind, and focused, instead, on the sensation of skin on skin, the weight of someone trusted and trusting that lay in his arms, in his safekeeping. No one would hurt them here. Here was comfort; hope; and an intangible, yet definitely, absolutely, _real_ sense of . . . peace.

And at this moment, in this room, in these arms, no one could take it away.

* * *

"Mmmhh . . ."

Gaara opened his eyes as he felt the body atop his own stir awake. Bleary blue ones, half-opened in the sunlight that had snuck into the room while he had rested, met his own; they widened slightly, and then crinkled into a smile.

"Hey," Naruto whispered.

"It's eight o'clock," Gaara informed him, his voice soft below the music playing in the apartment below them, and the chorus of noises outside the window, scant snatches of laughter and the distant tinkle of bells.

"Yeah, g'mornin' to ya, too," Naruto murmured, rolling over so that the two were chest-to-chest, like two flowers gathered close beneath the blanket. He wiggled a little higher up on Gaara, buried his face against Gaara's neck, wrapped his arms about Gaara's shoulders, and whispered, "You smell good. Yay."

Gaara studied the whorl of hair below his chin, threading his fingers through the mane. "What do I smell like?"

"Eh?" Naruto raised his head, peered at Gaara with drowsy blue eyes. "Sun. Sand." He paused thoughtfully, and then smiled his open, sunny smile, the one that made his entire face light up – like, Gaara thought, a quick and inner dawn. "You."

"I do?"

"Mmm." Naruto lay back down, and rolled onto his side, drawing Gaara sideways with him. "Yeah. You're all stiff, you know that? Hey . . ." he opened his eyes a little wider, and Gaara waited as the blond scanned his form carefully. "You weren't holding me like that the whole night, were you?"

Gaara nodded, seeing no reason to lie. Naruto's face softened into concern, his hand coming up to touch Gaara's shoulder.

"Ouch." He said with a wince, "You're all stiff, no wonder. Wanna stand up and stretch?"

Gaara shrugged. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Naruto asked softly.

Gaara could feel his fingers begin to move in firm, smooth circles on his back.

"Keep doing that," he whispered. "I'm fine."

Naruto snorted. "If you can boss me around, Tanuki-san, you're fine."

Gaara watched Naruto stretch, rocking his head back and pushing out his toes, easing some of his own discomfort without jostling the redhead.

"Naruto . . ."

"Yeah?" Naruto drew back in, and Gaara waited until his blue eyes had met his own dark-rimmed ones before summoning the words he wanted to say, the sense he had had the night before, that he wanted now to express..

"I'm sorry," He began simply.

"Huh? S'kay, don't be–"

"But I liked laying there with you."

Naruto's tongue tied itself in a series of mumbled syllable that ended in a grin. "Wha – really?"

Gaara nodded. He watched Naruto's eyes move over his face, slip down to the neck of his opened shirt; watched him blush, and quickly move his gaze away. The smile on his face was partly shamefaced, but pleased nonetheless.

Gaara felt his hands slow on his back, and the kneading motions ceased altogether when Naruto's face turned back to his, the smile fading into something serious, and a little sad.

"Gaara," he said softly, "That really means a lot to me."

Gaara studied him carefully, and then nodded. "It means a lot to me, too. I felt . . . safe . . . with you. Lying there." He searched his mind, carefully considering and discarding words. "I felt . . . warm."

Naruto brought his face closer, so that they were very near to each other, noses almost touching. "You're getting better," he said, and Gaara saw the same soft, almost smiling, expression, the same pride, that Temari and Kankuro sometimes looked at him with, on his face. "That's good. That's really good . . . I'm so glad, Gaara."

Gaara silently drew his fingers through Naruto's hair, let the strands fall from his hands. He didn't know how to reply, so he didn't.

After a long moment, Naruto's smile slowly reappeared. He moved his hand from Gaara's back, brought it up, and brushed the red hair from his face. Gaara felt his touch linger on his cheek, fingers tracing down to the corner of his jaw. It reminded him of the night that had just passed, his hands on Naruto.

"You're soft," he informed the boy lying next to him, both of them covered by the frog-print blanket.

"Heh," Naruto chuckled, his eyes wrinkling shut. "Only you . . ."

Gaara didn't resist as arms wrapped back around him, pulling him close to the warm plane of Naruto's chest. Fingers came up, spread through his hair, dipped to trace the kanji gouged into his skin.

"You know," Naruto murmured happily into his ear, "you really do smell good . . ."

"I need a shower." Gaara reminded him.

Naruto coughed out a laugh, curling forward into the redhead. "And you're so cute when you're being blunt and deadpan . . ."

"Do you think so?"

The last word was muffled as Naruto pressed in and kissed him, firmly, easing their bodies close together, legs entwined. Gaara let the pressure smooth away the doubts, the uncertainties, the dark shadows that flitted through his mind. He closed his eyes, now red with sunlight, and pushed back. Against him, Naruto smiled through the kiss, wide enough so that Gaara could feel the hard ridges of his teeth.

A low rumble interrupted their exchange, and Naruto drew back in surprise, blushing slightly.

"You're hungry," Gaara deduced.

Naruto shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess so. You?"

"I can cook something." Gaara assured him. "It's late enough anyway."

"Aw–"

"But," Gaara continued over his friend, unperturbed, "before breakfast, we need to shower."

Naruto met Gaara's unwavering blue eyes, turned scarlet, laughed aloud, and seized his hand. Gaara didn't protest as the covers were thrown back from him, allowing Naruto to pull him from the bed, practically pick him up, and drag him out the door.

* * *

There were no fresh blueberries in the kitchen ("You think I can plan that far ahead? Nice one, Gaara."), but there were some frozen ones crammed at the very back of the fridge. Gaara, who was used to thawed fruit, set out the packet to defrost with a feeling comparable to one of discovering a needle in a haystack.

"I need," he remarked aloud, "to reorganize this place."

He had done so three times in the months where he had been in Konoha, and the place certainly looked better than it had done before he, to put it in Naruto's words, "went OCD on its ass." Gaara couldn't figure out why items mysteriously migrated about the place. Kankuro had told him that it was because he was in an unfamiliar place and adjusting to it still; however, it was Gaara's personal theory that Naruto's socks could crawl on their own, and no data hitherto gathered had disproved the idea.

He set out the butter, flour, sugar, and eggs on the table, and cleaned off a mixing bowl in the sink. Naruto's kitchen was tiny, but Gaara was more than used to tiny kitchens, and it was second nature to move about in one, elbows held close to his sides.

Naruto came in as he was washing his hands, still toweling off his wet hair. Gaara was in grey pants and a long-sleeved, dark blue shirt Temari had gotten him; Naruto was in a yellow shirt and brown pants, the former of which was damp from the water still clinging to his hair. They were the only colorful objects in the plain, white room, standard housing for Konoha's shinobi, save for the collection of vividly green frogs that Hinata insisted on adding to every several months. With the white sky outside, Gaara rather felt that the scene was similar to a child's coloring book, where the biggest objects, and random spots on the page, had been colored on, and the rest was left as pale as it had come.

"You're almost out of soap," Gaara told him, evaluating the level still in the frog-shaped dispenser. "I can get you more, later."

Naruto blinked. "Oh, yeah? Um . . . sure! Thanks."

Gaara raised his head, and turned to look at Naruto in slight surprise and concern.

"You sound distracted." He remarked, tonelessly.

Naruto smirked. "Well, I'm kinda adjusting my mind to getting used to seeing you in fuzzy orange slippers."

Gaara shrugged. "I cannot find my own."

"Heh . . . yeah . . ." Naruto yawned widely, stretched, and plunked the towel down on the table. "SO! Whatta ya making?"

Gaara surveyed the ingredients lined up neatly on the table. "Pancakes."

"With blueberries?"

Gaara followed Naruto's hopeful gaze to the thawing berries. "Yes."

"Sweet!" Naruto grinned happily. "You need anyth – oh, here, let me get that."

Gaara drew back, allowing Naruto to scoot past him to get to the apron he had been reaching for.

"What had you wanted to do today?" He asked Naruto's back, dropping his arms back to his sides.

"Me?" Naruto scooped the apron off of its hook and craned his head around, to look at Gaara. "Well . . ."

He shrugged a little, and then turned and walked up to Gaara, so that the two were very close. Gaara reached for the apron, but Naruto pulled away from his touch and drew the apron down over Gaara's head himself, reaching around his waist to tie the strings together. The apron was a size too big for Naruto himself, which meant that it was certainly bigger than Gaara, the waistline just a bit below Gaara's hips. Naruto plopped his chin over Gaara's shoulder, his ear pressed into Gaara's neck, to get a good look at the back of Gaara's waist – purely to make sure that he was tying the bow correctly, of course.

The warmth of him was welcome, even if it made the already cool kitchen feel even colder by comparison. Gaara stayed still, absorbing the physical contact, the arms about his own.

Naruto, perhaps sensing this, held the embrace long after the apron was secured. Gaara had almost closed his eyes when the blond ninja drew back slowly, straightening so that they were once again eye-to-eye, and bringing up both his hands to frame Gaara's face.

"Guess what?"

Gaara gazed into the mix of mischief and affection on Naruto's whiskered face, mildly curious. "What?"

Naruto winked. "It's a surprise. I got you something for the holidays."

"What?"

"PLUSHIE TACKLE-GLOMP OF DOOM!"

Gaara didn't see where Naruto pulled the blur of fur and cloth from. Considering that he was suddenly bouncing down onto the sofa next to the counter, where the kitchen area opened into the living room, he rather thought that the slip was forgivable.

Naruto, straddling Gaara's sides with his knees on the cushions, sat back and grinned down at the redhead, holding out the object. "Happy holidays! I got you this present! Do you like it?"

Gaara, flat on his back blinked up at the offered item. It was indeed a plushie – one larger than his head and Naruto's combined, and fashioned in the likeness of what appeared to be a fuzzy baby tanuki with huge, black eyes. A stuffed red heart, sewn between its paws so that the stuffed animal appeared to be holding it close, read "Hug Me."

The jinchuuriki couldn't help it. The corner of his mouth tugged up.

Naruto threw the plushie at him in elation and punched a fist into the air, grinning from ear to ear. "HA! A smile! SCORE!"

"Uzumaki Naruto . . ." Gaara caught the baby tanuki plushie and just shook his head. The strange sensation remained on his mouth, however, as Naruto leaned back in, still laughing and balancing above Gaara with one hand on the arm of the couch, above the prone redhead's hair.

"Do you like it?" Naruto asked again, when he could speak.

Gaara considered. "It . . . is most certainly interesting."

Naruto smirked. "Squeeze it."

Gaara complied. The plushie, its sides clenched between his hands, emitted three notes of "I love you!" recorded in Naruto's voice.

"It's for . . ." Naruto shifted back again, and peered down at Gaara, suddenly serious, "you know, when things get rough. When you need something and . . . well . . ." he coughed a little, and shrugged, but kept his eyes intent on Gaara, "I . . . wanted to give it to you, you know? Because I really do . . ."

Gaara stared at him, and swallowed back the pain that came with those words, those memories, and the deep feeling of gratitude and emotion that went beyond his power to describe. "Thank you," he managed to say. "This . . . means a great deal to me."

Naruto smiled warmly, his own sadness gone back to the quiet place in the depths of his eyes, where the blue was almost black. He leaned back forward, so that the plushie and its sweet upturned face was sandwiched between the two of them, lying together on the couch. "I . . . thanks, Gaara."

Close, those kind blue eyes, determined and strong. Gaara felt the tightness in his throat ease, felt some of the chill inside warm and fall away. It was like walking by the waterfall with Naruto, reading the same novel over one another's shoulder in the bookstore, sitting on the rooftop of this very apartment, and talking as the sun went down. Resting together, in the silence broken only by the current of their breath, embracing. Comforting. Safe . . .

Naruto kissed the tip of Gaara's nose, and he couldn't help but smile.


	2. Peppermint Tea

_For the new year!_

_This one turned out to want to be written in a much different format than the previous installment, and the one after it will probably be different as well. This story has a bit more sadness, a bit more pain. But I think it turned out well, and I hope the sweetness alleviates some of the sorrow._

_PS. The part of my brain that regulates updating on stories doesn't know that it's not December anymore. Shh! Don't tell it! Anyway, since all of these are, and will be, winter-themed, I don't see the need to change the title._

_A note -- in these series of installments, Suna runs on the 24-hour system, while Konoha runs on the two 12-hour system. Thus, 13:00 in Suna is 1:00 PM in Konoha. I did this because I felt it made the two feel a bit more foreign, and it was fun to do ^_^ Then, of course, I realized that I had to explain it ..._

_A GaaraxMatsuri story, with some sand siblings on the side. Happy 2009._

****

Our December

Installment II: Peppermint Tea

The water roiled slowly, bubbles cruising from the pot's black depths to break the surface. The flame below the grid on the stove was a cold, fey thing that shone out in the semi-darkness, shimmering blue and licking at the metal.

Matsuri leaned over the stove, watching the water, her chin tucked into her palms, long fingers cupping her jaw, holding back her hair. The bangs fell across her eyes anyway, damp with the water's rising moisture, slits in her vision. She needed to start pinning them back. Sometime.

Four tea bags were laid out on the holly-patterned plate next to the stove, folded neatly into their red-and-white paper coverings. Four mugs were next to them, standing small and sturdy sentinel about the porcelain: one blue, one green, two grey, like Konoha's autumnal morning mists. Matsuri found her eyes straying to the mugs, watching the lamplight echo in the gloss on them.

The few red glasses the room had featured had been placed at the far back of the cabinet, masked with a crowd of green and blue. The closet had been combed for red blankets, red clothing (what little there was of it) had been relegated to the bottoms of suitcases, and Kankuro had gone through the hotel room twice, hiding and removing all the red objects on the walls.

Matsuri turned back to the pot, watched the steam rise from the water, fragile and evanescent, turning strange grey shapes in the air. She could hear a soft voice talking in the bedroom, the familiar teasing tone tempered, turned somber. It was five in the evening – seventeen Suna time – and Temari still wasn't back yet. Matsuri wondered if she was drawing out her report as long as she could, remaining in the warmth and safety of the Hokage's receiving chambers as long as etiquette and her own worry could allow. Probably not; Temari loved her brothers, she would come straight home as soon as she could; yet Matsuri wondered if the older girl had ever been tempted to stay away from home, from the little brother who could change so quickly and with so little warning, from a hotel room where only half the lights were on.

The two eldest sand shinobi had a lot of explanations for Gaara's behavior. The long journey to Leaf, the abrupt shift in climate, the change of food and water, the waxing moon, the unfamiliar circumstances . . . Gaara had been increasingly silent and unresponsive the entire trip; last night, he had shut down completely, and Kankuro had practically shoved Temari and Matsuri out of the room. It hadn't been because they were in danger, Temari had assured Matsuri; it had been because Gaara was terribly tired and needed some respite from the stress of having other people, no matter how familiar, around.

She had taken Matsuri around Konoha's central district, touring every store, and then to a café – never mind that it had been nine, ten, eleven at night, and they had both been exhausted. Now, staring down at the water, willing it to boil, Matsuri saw again the series of shops in her mind's eye, decked out in gold and flashing lights for the winter season, and remembered the cinnamon and coffee smells of the café, drowsing with her head on the table while Temari checked her watch every other moment, and stared out blankly into the brooding night.

Thankfully, Gaara got over the worst of it fairly quickly, enough so that Temari had felt safe ordering him to stay in bed and rest, when she and Matsuri had finally gotten home. Or so Kankuro had told her later. Matsuri had gone to sleep the second she had gotten to the couch, after making sure Gaara was okay.

It had been a lazy day after that. Kankuro had brought a little table into Gaara's room, and he and Matsuri had taken turns playing chess with Gaara in bed while Temari talked with the Godaime Hokage. Gaara, though relatively back to normal, had still been tired and quiet, and Matsuri and Kankuro, sleepy as well, hadn't pressed him for conversation. With the afternoon lengthening and Temari not yet back, Matsuri had volunteered to make tea – a proposition that had received approval from Kankuro and a fraction of a nod from Gaara.

And now she waited, for the water to boil, for Temari to return, for the world to ease back from its tension and its fear. She could still feel it – had felt it even when she and Temari had come home earlier that morning, hoping that all would be well, that five hours would be enough. It was the way Kankuro watched Gaara's every move, the way he kept his voice low, his hands always where Gaara could see them. The way both he and Temari had stiffened when Matsuri had hugged Gaara that morning, when she had woken up to find that the two sand shinobi had never gone to sleep.

She remembered Gaara's gentle expression, the small smile on his mouth when she'd pulled away from him, the look of exhausted appreciation that had hovered around the edges of the blankness in his eyes. It gave her some comfort.

It was her fear, and the fear of Gaara's sister and brother, that one day Gaara would break, and never come back.

But it was a fear that had not yet come to pass, and Matsuri waved her hand into the mists, watched them dissipate around her fingers. Her heart ached for the boy resting in the other room, who had been as a teacher and a friend and an elder brother to her, whose family had gradually become her own, who haunted her dreams, who had the saddest blue eyes in the universe . . .

She sighed, and bowed her head into the steam; and noticed, only then, that the water was boiling.

* * *

Kankuro wandered into the kitchen, yawning widely, just as Matsuri was ladling hot water into the cups. She looked up from her task, and suppressed a wince. The shinobi been up with Gaara for two straight nights, and it showed in the lag to his gait, the bruised crescent moons below his eyes, the way he rubbed the back of his neck and peered blurrily across the half-lighted room at her.

"So," he said, ambling over, "what do these Leaf ninja call tea?"

Matsuri checked the label. "Peppermint tea. It's supposed to be . . . um, festive."

Kankuro's eyebrow lifted. "Peppermint, huh? Go figure. Better than nothing, I guess." he glanced over at the counter. "Is there no teapot or something?"

"No teapot." She confirmed, and Kankuro shrugged. Matsuri watched him begin unfolding the crisp, thin paper from around the teabags, watched him lift them by their strings and dip them into the cups. Amber clouds rolled through the water, staining and darkening it. The color was warm, and, after a moment, Matsuri could smell the peppermint scent; she breathed deep of it, and was reminded of the café, late last night, the hooks of red and white shining on the little trees poised all around the place.

"He's okay," Kankuro said bracingly to her, after a moment, eyes on the water. "Shi – uh, stuff happens."

Matsuri glanced questioningly at him, and noticed that he was blushing slightly.

"You look tired," she said.

Kankuro shrugged a little, not looking up at her. "He wasn't really bad to begin with, anyway, you know. Just . . . I don't know. Tired. Rocked about a little. He hasn't been feeling well."

"I know," she replied simply.

"Yeah . . ." Kankuro sighed, and took a mouthful of tea. "Been up too long . . . hell, I need something stronger than this stuff. Ugh." He pulled the cup back, stared at it with something like a smile on his face. "Peppermint, right? Leaf doesn't know how to make tea, do they?"

Matsuri smiled. "It's a bit thin right now. Let it seep."

Kankuro shrugged and coughed, but kept it quiet. "Look, Mat . . . I'm gonna take a nap now. Temari should be back soon. I need sleep. Been up two straight nights in a row . . ."

"I'll tell Gaara." Matsuri turned, looking for a tray.

"I already told him." Kankuro yawned. "Tray's over there, if you're looking for it. And actually, the brat's the one who told me to go to bed . . ."

His voice trailed off; Matsuri, moving back across the room with the tray in her arms, saw him frowning at the doorway to Gaara's room, rubbing his nose.

"If you need anything, Mat . . ." he said, his voice low, serious, "you can come get me, ok?"

She turned away, uncomfortable beneath his grave eyes. "I know, Kankuro. If I need you, I will be sure to harass you until you help me."

In the window, reflected on the black and white of the sky outside, she saw his lips tug up into a threadbare smile. "You learned that line from Gaara."

She settled two of the mugs onto the tray, and moved to slip the other one into the tiny hotel fridge. "I guess so."

"Yeah," Kankuro yawned again. "I'm dead. Really. See you in hopefully ten calm, peaceful hours. I might even get eleven, if I'm lucky. Who knows?" He drained the last of his tea, and put the cup into the sink, before nodding to her. "G'night."

"I hope you sleep well," she told him.

"You and me, both . . ." he stretched, and turned for his own room, pausing to call out softly, "Night, Gaara!"

Matsuri's back was to the brothers, so if Gaara replied, she neither saw nor heard it. Regardless, Kankuro walked off to his room, left the door all the way open, and threw himself down onto his bed, clothes and all. Matsuri definitely heard that _thwump_.

She hefted the tray, both their cups steaming on the wood between her arms.

* * *

Gaara's room had been closed off for most of the day. Nearly windowless, and unexposed to the front door of the hotel, it thus was warmer than the rest of the building. Matsuri began to shoulder her way through the door, the tray cradled in her arms, but it pulled away from her without her effort, and with a hiss that she was all too familiar with. Looking down, she saw a trail of sand, small specks of it glimmering in the light.

Gaara was sitting huddled on the bed, looking drawn and pale, but otherwise okay. Matsuri's heart eased a little when he looked up attentively, as she drew near; it slipped just the tiniest fraction when his tight expression softened.

"I brought tea," she said, and held it out like an offering. Gaara nodded and drew a deep breath, then looked a little more closely at her.

"It's peppermint." Matsuri explained.

"I know," he said.

She sat the tray down on the desk, aware that he was watching her, even from behind the wall of exhaustion and withdrawal. She turned and smiled at him, though the weary cloud in his blue eyes broke something inside her a little more.

"It's hot right now," she said, speaking past that pain, the tightness in her throat, and even managing to laugh a little. "Kankuro drank it straight, I bet he has a burned tongue now."

Gaara nodded a little, his eyes going from her face to the cups of tea, to the door, to her hands, and back up to her face. Matsuri held up her hands, to where he could clearly see them, and then sat down on the edge of his bed, laying them in her lap. Her brown hair stirred as she turned to look him fully in the face, swinging down to brush her cheek when she stretched on the quilted bed.

"Temari took me shopping last night," she said softly, keeping her voice low and soothing, "and I got to see some of the weirdest stores. There was one that had all sorts of lacy, black things, with some rude t-shirts that made Temari laugh. There's a bunch of holiday shops. A lot of gold and lights. The café we went to was all decked out, with tiny trees in all the corners. It smelled like cinnamon and . . . well, to tell you the truth, salt. People were pouring salt onto the steps outside the door."

Gaara watched her silently. His knees were drawn up loosely to his chest, and she could see his fingers smoothing and tugging on the hem of his pants, above the slender stem of his pale ankle.

"You okay?" she asked, and he lowered his eyes from her.

"I'm fine."

His voice was rusty, rubbed raw.

"I'm fine, too." She swung her legs onto the bed. "I'm glad you're fine."

He didn't say anything as she crawled across the bed, and kept his eyes on his hand when she positioned herself in front of him, close enough to let him feel the space she filled, to let him smell the scent of soap and hotel blankets, to let him hear the shift of cloth on skin as she drew her own legs up, mimicking him. Their toes were almost touching. She could see the red rims, just inside the black, ringing his eyes, and felt the prick at the back of her own.

Close enough to reach out to, to be accessible, but not too close. Not close enough to scare, or to threaten. Matsuri hugged her knees, keeping her hands in sight.

"I look bad," Gaara spoke up, his voice a near-whisper in the dim hotel, "but I am feeling better."

"I'm glad you're feeling better. And you don't look bad," she assured him. "Just tired."

"I am tired." He shrugged beneath the sweater, his eyes still not meeting hers.

"Yeah," she let herself smile a little, "me too."

Now his blue eyes moved to meet hers, frowning a little on his face. "I'm sorry. About that."

"It's okay."

They sat in silence. She could hear the wind outside, could see the play of snow upon the glass from the corner of her eye. Cloth shifted as Gaara turned to follow her gaze; their pale faces gazed back at them, dyed blue by the evening, and Matsuri could clearly see the dark marks under her own eyes.

"Tell me more about your night." Gaara said, turning back to her, and wrapping her arms decisively about his knees. "With Temari."

"Shopping?" Matsuri shrugged. "It was okay. It's not my favorite thing to do. Temari bought me a coffee, it was really kind of thick and too sweet. It was okay when it was hot, and I was only taking a little bit of it. It wasn't too good when it got cold, though. Although it was extremely nice of her to get it for me in the first place. And we went to some clothing stores, I got a sweater and some jewelry."

She watched Gaara as she talked, careful to keep her voice low, and was grateful to see him slowly ease back from his tense position. The one light in the room, cold and white, had bleached his skin a paler shade than the sun would have shown, were it earlier in the day; it had also given a darker cast to the shadows on his face, hiding below his hair and in the small dips of his face, the mouth and the wide light eyes. Gaara had always seemed vivid to Matsuri, dramatic; darkish red and deep, penetrating blue, inlaid in black and white.

She rather liked the contrasts, the colors.

Gaara nodded when she finished talking, and they subsided once again into silence. It was a comfortable silence, though; Matsuri knew this boy, knew the determination and the sadness that played out in his eyes, knew his quiet moments. She felt safe around him, safer than the little girl who had lost her parents so suddenly and so horribly could ever have imagined feeling, all those months ago.

"Will she be back soon?"

Jerked a little from her reverie, Matsuri blinked up at Gaara's wan face. "Temari? She should be. Diplomatic meetings can go on forever, though."

He nodded. Now that she wasn't staring at him, Matsuri realized that she could hear deep, rasping snores from the next room. They brought a smile to her mouth.

"Kankuro's sleeping well," she said, turning to look out the door, towards the noise.

"What about you?"

Surprised, Matsuri turned back to Gaara. The redhead was looking closely at her, as if he was searching her face for something; he looked more alert now then he had looked in days.

"You're tired," he said frankly, and she knew he was studying the dark shadows under her eyes.

"Yes, I am. So are you." Matsuri replied with a shrug, turning and crawling across the narrow bed, to the table. "I think the tea's cooled down," she said, looking back to him, over her shoulder, "do you want yours?"

He nodded, and reached for the mug, as she picked it up. Matsuri handed it over, watched him take a long drink of it, and couldn't help but smile when his nose wrinkled up.

"This . . ."

She brought her fist up to her mouth, giggled into it, at the look on his face as he drew the mug away, staring at it in mingled astonishment and distaste.

"It's peppermint," she said again, and reached for her own.

Immediately, she understood what he was talking about. Matsuri herself didn't really mind the overpowering taste of sugar and peppermint, layered over strong green tea, as it rolled into her mouth; but she knew that Gaara disliked sweet things. She remembered the look on his face, and choked a little on her drink.

"Wow," she said, "That's really sweet."

Gaara took another, more experimental, sip, as if proving to himself that yes, it really was that bad. "It's . . ."

"Here," Matsuri held out her hand, "I'll take it back."

He blinked at her hand, and then gave her the cup. Matsuri settled it down onto the tray, after another drink of her own.

"It's for the festival," she explained, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Temari said that peppermint's common here."

Gaara nodded faintly, eyes still on the cup. The moment of intensity seemed to have cost him; Matsuri put the napkin down quickly, looking at him in concern.

"Are you okay, Gaara?"

He shrugged, and then turned his head away. Matsuri watched in silence as he slumped back down on top of the covers, arms moving up to wrap around his chest.

"Gaara?"

"I'm fine," he mouthed softly, eyes tightly closed. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."

"It's okay," she replied, and reached over, across the tray, to the lamp.

In the silence, the _ping_ of the light turning off was far too loud, too final. The hallway light crept over the floor, giving some substance to the room, and to the figures in it.

Matsuri hesitated, her hand still on the lamp. She didn't want to leave Gaara, not when he looked so ill and drained.

"Mind if I stay?" She whispered.

Gaara gave a fraction of a huddle, but rolled over onto his side, so that he was facing her, cheek pressed to the pillow. She was about to ask again when he nodded, eyes still closed.

The bed was small, but wide enough for two heads. Matsuri lay down next to Gaara, wanting to place her face in a place easily accessible to him, and wanting him to feel her presence.

"You don't mind?" She asked, stretching her legs out. "Gaara?"

"No," he replied, rubbing his forehead. "Please, stay."

Matsuri's tongue tied in her mouth, and she pressed her lips together, biting back her tears. Gaara's voice was nakedly plaintive, a note that made her, who knew so well the strong boy who had sworn to keep her safe, hurt for him.

"Of course," she said. "Always."

He didn't move when she reached down around him, picking up the blanket that had been folded down on the bed, and drawing it over both his shoulders and her own. Matsuri settled back into the bed, smoothing the heavy cover over Gaara's back with her free hand, and then taking his own in hers. His fingers were cold, dry; she rubbed them in hers, turning them so that their palms were pressed together.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She hugged his hand with her own. "You're welcome. Is this better?"

Gaara nodded – and then, to Matsuri's surprise, the corners of his mouth turned up into a silent breath, something that might have been a laugh.

"You smell like peppermint," he said.

It took her a moment to work through the muffled edges of those words. "I do?"

He nodded, and though his eyes were still pressed shut in pain, Matsuri thought he might be smiling.

"I like it better on you," he whispered.

"Oh . . ." She was blushing; she could feel it rising in her cheeks, a flush of warmth. "I . . . th-thanks, Gaara."

He nodded, and the hand in hers moved a little, below the blanket, curling its fingers through her own.

Outside, the snow spun and whirled, dancing just past the glimmering glass of their small window.


End file.
